Curiosity Killed the Cat
by IzzyBells
Summary: Caterine du Rien, an ancient vampire, takes up residence at 221C. How will she cope with having Sherlock Holmes living in the flat above her? Will Sherlock find out her secret vampire identity? Oh, who am I kidding, of course he does. Rated for swearing and a LOT of blood.
1. Chapter 1

Hi. So I noticed that there seems to be a lack of Sherlock/vampire OC fics here. And, being me, I decided to write one. No, this is not a Twilight-y version if vampires, this is my own, more traditional version. So, without further ado, Curiosity Killed the Cat. Enjoy!

update: There was a glitch or something when I first uploaded this chapter. All the spaces between the paragraphs were gone. I fixed it now, though. Sorry about that!

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Caterine du Rien came out of stasis with a slight jolt, like waking from a falling dream in which one's muscles spasm before the bottom can be reached. She was staring at the ebony lid of a coffin. She was pleased to see that there were no fractures in the wood, thus certifying the quality. Her eyes lazily searched for and found the string that was connected to a bell deep in the Underneath, and uncrossed her arms to give it a sharp yank. Almost immediately, Caterine felt the nauseating evaporation of teleportation. Thankfully, it was over almost as soon as it began, and Caterine was lying on the floor of the Reawakening Offices, her pristine white funeral garb standing out against the black stone.

"Miss du Rien?" drawled a mumbling voice, horribly mispronouncing her French name.

"Yes?" Caterine responded sharply, sitting up and looking at the zombie.

"I'm sure you're aware of protocaahhl-" The zombie slowly bent down to pick up his bottom jaw from where it had fallen. He popped it back into place and continued. "I'm sure you're aware of protocol regarding your faked death?"

"Yes, I am. Could you show me to the front desk, please?"

The zombie moaned in reply and turned to begin shuffling away. Caterine stood and brushed the dust from the back of her dress and followed him, mentally yelling for him to hurry up. Halfway there, the zombie's arm fell off, but he hardly seemed to notice, and Caterine was forced to pick it up and shove it at the zombie, trying to ignore the feeling of the gooey decomposing flesh. When they finally reached the lobby, Caterine was itching to sprint to the front desk. Instead, she waited patiently for the zombie to leave, and walked calmly to the receptionists' desk.

"Can I help you?" the skeleton asked with a toothy smile.

"Yes, I just woke from effectively faking my death."

"Name and species?"

"Caterine du Rien, greater vampire."

"Ah yes, right on time. Fill out these forms please, and we'll call you when she's ready."

Caterine took the forms and sat in a seat a couple away from a mage with long blue hair. The form went through various aspects of her former human life, previous occupations, schooling, accomplishments, health status, age, and pretty much anything anyone would ever need to know. She knew these were only necessary because the Reigning Congress had a file on every detail of her life somewhere and they wanted to keep it as up to date as possible. Just as Caterine finished the last of many pages, she heard her name called. She rose, returned the forms to the receptionist, and followed the skeleton to her agent's office.

Caterine entered the room and took a seat at the desk. Her agent was a cheery, yet realistic mage named Adeline Jacobs. She had the business woman style down pat, with her pencil skirts and blazers and heels. She looked very human, aside from her dark red hair, which she kept at a professional-looking bob. Caterine had seen many people dying their hair in such colors, and even a few business women dyed their hair black or red, so Adeline must not stand out that much.

"Good evening, Caterine," greeted Adeline.

"Adeline."

"How did it go?"

"My death went according to plan. I regret leaving my friends behind, but I have grown accustomed to such problems."

"Very good. Are you ready for your debriefing?" Adeline asked.

"I suppose."

"Okay, let's get started. If you would direct your attention to the wall behind you, I'll turn on the projector." Caterine turned in the swiveling chair as the slide show presentation flickered to life against the plain wall. "As you know, this time you will be returning to the world as a greater vampire. This does entail some changes in how you conduct yourself in the Above. Although you will be terribly sensitive to sunlight, you can venture out during the day without turning to dust. Just remember to put on sunscreen. And you will no longer have the intolerance to garlic. You can still be killed with fire, though, so be careful around campfires and bonfires and fireplaces.

"Now, as for the current day and age, it isn't too different from 2003, when you left. There is some technological advancement, however. Cell phones have advanced greatly, as you can see. iPhones are very easy to figure out, though. We've set up a new iPhone 5s for you, and programmed it with my cell number and the numbers of a few of the offices down here in the Underneath that you might have need of. The postal service and Mortal Affairs are in your contacts, for example. Computers have greatly improved as well. We've also procured a new MacBook Pro that's all set up with the same Apple ID as the one on your phone. This Apple ID will be what you use for anything made by Apple, should you wish to buy anything else.

"In accordance with your former career choices, we've set up a job for you at St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London. You will be a pathologist-"

"On one condition," Caterine interrupted. "I will be allowed to take blood from the cadavers to use for my own consumption."

"But Caterine, you agreed to-"

"I agreed to never drain a living mortal, Adeline. I have gone eight and a thousand years without once tasting a drop of human blood. When the Treaty with the Above Dwellers was written, it was agreed that all had to renew their signatures every one hundred years. In 2000, we were called to resign. I reread the article regarding vampires. It says that we shall not feed on the living mortals. Animals, of course, were fair game, but we are not to touch the living mortals, human, elf, dwarf, mermaid, or equestren. It says nothing of the dead. Therefore, I found cause to believe that dead mortals are available to us."

Adeline sighed and extracted a copy of the Treaty from a desk drawer and scanned the section concerning vampires. She looked back up at Caterine defeatedly. "You're right about that. Well, I suppose I can't forbid you to take blood from the bodies...so long as you're careful about doing it. But just in case, remember-" Adeline tapped one scarlet nail on the cell phone. "-Mortal Affairs Offices." Caterine grinned triumphantly and turned back to the presentation.

"Moving on, pathology is the precise study and diagnosis of disease. You will be required to slice open dead bodies and inspect various organs. As a greater vampire, I expect you to have no problem restraining yourself. Can I trust you?" Caterine nodded. "Good. You'll be working with Ms. Molly Hooper in the morgue. You will be introduced as her new partner. Remember she is not your assistant; I know how you love to be in charge, but Ms. Hooper is not. Your. Assistant. She is your partner, and you are her partner. Hopefully you won't hate each other. Is this job acceptable?"

"Yes, thank you. I assume I will be taking up residence nearby in London?"

"Yes. Our contact within the British government has a younger brother living in 221B Baker Street. According to our contact, there is an empty 221C that the landlady would be happy to rent out to you."

"We have a contact in the British government?"

"Of course."

"Is he the Prime Minister? How does he have any control over affairs concerning Above Dwellers and Underneath Dwellers?"

"Let it be enough to say that he practically is the government. Living so close to his brother would most probably incite a meeting with him. You'll know exactly who he is soon enough."

"Ah. Is there anything else I should know before changing into normal clothing and going up?"Caterine asked, anxious to get going.

"Well, I can show you a few slides on fashion, but I'm sure you'll catch up on the styles soon enough. You are familiar with the British pound? They do not use euros, as Germany did."

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"Can you find your way around the Underneath to the Above shops?"

"I've been navigating this city for over a thousand years. I'll be fine."

Caterine stood and exchanged a nod with Adeline before making her way down to the lobby and exiting the Reawakening Offices. Her sensitive nose was immediately bombarded with the stench of death. Caterine simply halted the unnecessary flow of air into her nose and continued on down the street. She returned friendly smiles and the greetings of half skeletons and vampires and mages and fairies. The Underneath was a colorful, cheerful place. The only ones able to access it were the immortals. Originally it was a refuge only for the undead, but that was changed in a matter of decades. Mages, like vampires, had a need to fake their deaths to avoid rousing suspicion. And so the Underneath opened its welcoming arms to all immortals.

Caterine crossed the street to a less populated part of town. These were the Above shops. Vampires and mages in funeral garb were entering the mortal fashion-filled stores and exiting again with many shopping bags. There were even a few grocery stores where they could familiarize themselves with the foods of the current day and age. Caterine pushed open the door of a Macy's and began to shop. If she was going to be living in London, she would need to wear clothes that were appropriate for the England climate. She picked up a Vogue magazine and began to flip through it as she walked to the ladies' section.


	2. Chapter 2

Helloooo! So here's the second chapter. Just a fair warning, from here on out there will be blood. And dead bodies. I mean, she's a vampire who works in a morgue, of course there will be blood and dead bodies. But um, yeah...I don't think I go into too much detail, but I just thought I'd warn you. Other than that, enjoy!

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After spending nearly two hours procuring an entire wardrobe, Caterine left the department store and walked across the street to a building filled with nothing but dressing rooms for exactly the purpose of changing into new clothes before going to the Above. Caterine got a room number from the cheerful skeleton at the front desk and found her changing room, one on the first floor. She locked the door behind her and set her bags on the floor before stripping out of her white funeral dress. Why were the skeletons always so happy, anyway? Maybe it was because they were stuck in a permanent, toothy smile. If she were always smiling, Caterine mused, she would probably be happy too. Caterine began to dress. After ten years of sleeping and no bra, Caterine hated the bra she was currently wearing. Of course, it was kind of necessary. It was better than the corsets of the 1800s, the 1700s, the 1600s, the 1500s, and pretty much every century she had lived in before the 1900s. At least women had finally begun to wear pants.

Caterine was finally ready to go up. She was outfitted in dark blue jeggings, a long cream sweater with long sleeves that she pushed up to her elbows, brown leather ankle boots, and she had let her thick honey-blonde hair be its natural curly self. Caterine had gotten it layered when she had most recently lived in the Above and it had only taken a bit of ruffling with her fingers to get it just right. The mass of hair was long, reaching her hips. Caterine had refused to cut it any shorter in all of her 1,008 years as a vampire. Caterine filled her worn leather messenger bag (she had left it with a fairy friend who was a permanent resident of the Underneath) with her new laptop, her new phone, a pack of peppermint gum, a makeup bag filled with basic makeup that she would use everyday, and a new wallet. She would have to stop at the Bank of the Underneath to exchange her euros for pounds and get some cash to have on hand. She couldn't very well have a credit or debit card because that would raise some questions; Caterine du Rien died ten years ago, and thirty or so years before that, and thirty or so years before that, and thirty or so years before that, etc, etc. The last thing Caterine did before she left the changing room was put on makeup. Foundation, mascara, bronzer, white eyeshadow, cat eye eyeliner, and red lipstick. A bit hipster-ish for a pathologist, but what were pathologists supposed to wear then? They did work with dead bodies and in lab coats; it wasn't like anyone would notice or care. And she wouldn't be starting work for a day or two.

Caterine walked out of the building and spent the rest of the day spending time with immortals she hadn't seen in many years, friends she had made hundreds of years ago. And at the end of the day, she was teleported to a changing room in a department store in a shopping center in London. From there, Caterine easily blended in with the crowd. Of course, there were charms at work. Most of her clothes were charmed so that Caterine would only appear to be carrying one or two bags, when she was really carrying more than ten.

She made it to Baker Street, and as it was about ten in the morning, Caterine knew the human landlady would be awake. She knocked on the door. It was opened by an old lady.

"Hello, dear! Are you here to see Sherlock?"

"No, sorry. I'm Caterine du Rien. I'm actually asking about 221C."

"Oh, well come in then! Mycroft got everything all taken care of for you. A great aunt's second cousin's cousin's nephew's daughter, are you?"

"Oh, um, yes. We're very distantly related, and not even at all by blood. I'm surprised that Mycroft even bothered to do anything for me at all, really."

Caterine stepped inside and the landlady who introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson showed her down to the basement apartment of 221C. It was small in a cozy way. There was a kitchen, a bedroom with an adjacent bathroom, and a small sitting room. It was furnished already and fixed up all nice, just for her, she suspected.

"Well, that's that. I'm sure that as his relative you're used to Sherlock's habits, but just in case, he does play his violin all night sometimes, and he has clients filtering in and out constantly. Oh, and any gun shots you hear are probably him, too. He shoots at the wall when he's bored."

"Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Hudson, really, but I'll probably find out for myself most of his annoying habits."

"Okay. Well, call if you need anything. If you're attacked, I'm sure Sherlock will be able to help."

And with that, Mrs. Hudson whisked up the stairs. Caterine sent a thought to Adeline, and the thirteen shopping bags in her hand were uncharmed. Caterine set them all down on the bed. The decor in her bedroom was nicely done. It could easily become her favorite room, with the cream-colored wallpaper and the brown shag carpeting that enveloped her feet as they sunk into the plushness. The bed was a wrought iron frame, with swirling Parisian-reminiscent metalworking in the headboard and footboard. Iron was good; it would ward off unwanted fairy pranks. The queen-sized bed was made up with a duvet of soft tan fleece, and the sheets were dark purple cotton. There was a large rough wooden bookshelf against one wall, and her entire collection of books was crammed into the shelves. A desk was pushed against the wall under the window, a mirror framed with wicker sitting on the surface. The closet was spacious enough, and Caterine began to fill it with her newly acquired clothes. Finally, she sat down on her bed with a sigh. She wasn't used to being awake during the day. Caterine set an alarm on her phone for five in the evening and changed into pajamas to sleep the rest of the day.

At five, Caterine's alarm blared into her sensitive ears. She almost screamed. Instead she turned the alarm off and groaned loudly into her pillow. She was groaning more because of the noise than because of waking up. As a vampire, waking up was not like waking up as any other species. Vampires did not really need to sleep. If they got enough blood, they could go months without sleep. But with the Treaty, it was almost impossible to find and ingest that much blood. And so they slept. But there was no groggy state of half-consciousness, no yawning, no feeling of being refreshed. Caterine came to consciousness within a second; her eyes opened, she sat up, and she was ready for the night.

Caterine slid out of her bed and walked into the bathroom for a shower. She hated sleeping. Not only did it waste time, it showed weakness in a vampire. If you had to sleep it was because you couldn't hunt for enough blood to keep yourself going. Of course, all vampires were at their weakest just after Reawakening from stasis. And all vampires had to sleep sometime. But to have to sleep more than once every couple of weeks was the sign of a weak vampire. Caterine showered and stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel, and brushed her teeth. Her teeth were relatively normal looking, aside from the fact that in addition to having extra-sharp but normal-looking canines, the two teeth on either side of her two top front teeth were elongated and needle-pointed to carry the blood into her system. The two fangs were retractable and looked human when pulled into her gums. Caterine rinsed and spit, and opened the bathroom drawer where she stashed her makeup last night. She put on the same makeup as yesterday and then went back into her bedroom to dress.

Today was her first day of work. Well, night. Adeline had arranged a schedule of all night shifts for her. She probably wouldn't be seeing much of this Molly Hooper then, and that was a relief. In the same room with copious amounts of blood out in the open, and a live, warm, helpless human...it would have put her on edge. Any lesser vampire than a greater vampire would have lost control, or at least come close.

Caterine slid into dark blue jeggings again and pulled a black tank top on. She slipped a blue and white plaid flannel shirt on over the tank top and buttoned the middle few buttons. She yanked on a pair of black sneakers and slipped her phone into her messenger bag before leaving her flat. Caterine locked the door, stuffed the keys in her bag, turned around, and bumped into a man who had been standing behind her. She had forgotten to smell, damnit.

"I was not aware that a new tenant had moved into the basement flat," the man said in a deep, shudder-inducing tone.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes," Caterine said, looking up at him, for he was quite tall (but not as tall as he looked in the media).

"And you are the great aunt's second cousin's cousin's nephew's daughter, are you?"

"If that's what you were told, then yes. Caterine du Rien."

"Hm. Caterine. An old French variant of Catherine. Your last name would translate to 'of nothing.' As your name and bone structure suggest, you are most likely of French descent, you speak French, and you have recently been around bone dust and decomposing flesh, even though you have taken a shower since then. You work a night shift somewhere, and you have nothing in your fridge. Speaking of, would you be willing to keep body parts in your fridge?"

"First off," Caterine said, sighing, "I'm not of French descent, I actually am completely French. I was born in France, actually, but I developed my British accent here when I moved here at a very very young age."

"There's always something..." Sherlock muttered.

"Next, how the hell do you know I've been in close contact with bone dust and decomposing flesh?"

"Your bag. It has a very fine layer of bone dust in the creases and a very slight odor of death clinging to it."

"Wonderful. I'll have to wash that now..."

"As for your night shift, you are just leaving your flat at six in the evening, clearly going out somewhere. The sneakers suggest that you are going to your place of work. If you were simply going out to dinner, you would have worn shoes that correspond with your outfit. I would guess, based on the evidence on your bag and the fact that they are sneakers, a hospital or lab job. And your fridge? You nor your flat smell of food, but you would have eaten before you went to work, so I assume that you would be stopping to eat somewhere before going to work. Am I wrong?"

"Yes," Caterine replied immediately, not phased at all by the rapid deductions. "I was not planning on eating tonight. I never eat, actually."

"Never?"

"No. I have not eaten in a very long time."

"How long?"

"Oh, a matter of years... Please step aside so I'm not late."

Sherlock, still a bit confused by this revelation, did not move, so Caterine simply pushed past him and left the building. She hailed a cab and thought about this Sherlock Holmes as the cabby drove to Bart's. He was too sure of himself. Arrogant. Upset by being told he was wrong. He was a show-off. It would be very easy to play on his vanity. She could simply feed his ego a bit to control him. The cab stopped, and Caterine paid the man before slamming the door behind her.

She went in, told the nurse behind the desk of her situation, and was shown around the hospital, then put to work. Molly Hooper was there, working a night shift as well, and Caterine was introduced to her.

"Hello, I'm Caterine du Rien."

"Molly Hooper. And you are supposed to be my new partner, right?"

"Yes. That's what I've been told."

"Well, alright then. Let's get to work, shall we?"

Caterine nodded and the two women began to work. After about an hour they fell into a system that worked exceptionally well. Caterine would look at the file they had to complete, and find the body. Molly did most of the work, and Caterine wrote everything down. Then they would switch for the next body. Then the unexpected happened. At least, the unexpected for Caterine.

A few minutes before midnight, Sherlock Holmes entered the morgue, and demanded that Molly give him a lung. And then he noticed Caterine, who was quietly filling out paperwork in the corner.

"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.

"I work here."

"Since when?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just answer the question."

"No."

"Fine then," he snapped. "Do you work with Molly?"

"Yes." Caterine shared a look with Molly in which she stressed that she did not want her telling him anything. Molly nodded in understanding.

"Can you get me a lung? Ms. Hooper seems to be incapable of doing so."

"Why are you so bossy?"

"I'm not bossy."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"And now you're being defensive," Caterine said, setting aside the manilla folder to take a sample of the dead man's blood.

"I'm not being defensive," Sherlock retorted.

"Yes, actually, you are," Molly commented.

Caterine glanced up at the tall man. He looked positively enraged. Sherlock turned on his heel and stormed out of the morgue, his long coat swirling in his wake.

Caterine quickly filled a small blood bag before Molly could notice and slipped it into her pocket. She took the small sample and left the morgue and went for the lab, where she ran various tests on the blood. After marking down the results, Caterine glanced around for some tape. She found a roll of duct tape in a drawer and breathed a sigh of relief. She took the blood bag out of her lab coat pocket and extended her fangs. She took a deep breath before biting down on the bag. With a shudder of pleasure, Caterine drained the bag of every drop of blood. So much for finding tape. A bit of blood escaped out of her mouth and slipped over her lips, staining a scarlet trail down her chin and dripping to the floor. Her pupils dilated, and she took a breath in through her nose, smelling the pungent iron in the blood. She smelled the man before she heard him. He smelled like blood. He smelled warm and alive.

Caterine turned around just as Sherlock came into the doorway. It must have been quite a shock for him. Caterine knew she would be in big trouble with Adeline for this. There she was, her fangs on display, blood dripping from her mouth, and her amber-brown irises probably completely invisible by now. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her. A mixture of shock and curiosity washed over his face. That was when Caterine's mind snapped out of the primal haze induced by her first taste of human blood and she came to her senses.

"Shit," she whispered, retracting her fangs.

Instead of running to tell someone there was a vampire in the hospital, like Caterine expected, Sherlock took a step forward. All traces of shock were gone from his person. He was intrigued. Curious. Interested. Caterine felt fear flutter in her chest as he took another step toward her. He took another slow step, as if he was approaching a wild animal that he didn't want to frighten off. Caterine took a step back, away from Sherlock. She couldn't fight him. It wasn't legal. The Treaty forbid it. And she could have killed him with minimal effort if she tried. And then she could have drained the warm, fresh blood from his body, leaving him dry, and leaving her nourished. Or maybe she could have made him a vampire too. No, that would get her in even more trouble. She could not lay one finger on him, could not harm one hair, if she wanted to ever walk in the Above again. She had abided by the Treaty for 1,008 years, since the day she awoke from the very first stasis, since when she awoke a vampire, way back in 1005. Then again, she had never tasted human blood until now.

Sherlock stepped froward again. Caterine took another two steps back. One step forward, two steps back. One step forward, two steps back. And then she was backed against the wall. Sherlock ran at her. Before he had taken three running steps, Caterine employed her vampiric speed and had shed her lab coat, dropped the bag of blood, and dashed around the table. Sherlock stopped and looked at her with mild surprise. Caterine ran out of the room and retrieved her messenger bag before hailing a cab to take her back to Baker Street.

She sent a quick text to Molly (they had exchanged phone numbers earlier). The text informed Molly that Caterine had begun to feel poorly and had gone home. It wasn't completely a lie. She did go home, and she knew she would have to stay home for a day or two while she thought about how to deal with this. As soon as she got downstairs into her flat, Caterine collapsed on her bed. She couldn't bring Adeline into this. That would get her in trouble and she would probably be relocated or banned from the Above completely. So for now, Caterine would wait.

It was only a couple minutes before Caterine heard the handle of her door being jiggled, then a round of furiously fast knocking. Caterine didn't move, except to sit up on her bed. And there it was, the scratchy ticking of a lockpick. For a second, Caterine wondered what Sherlock would do if he succeeded in picking the lock and she happened to be in the middle of changing. Then the clack of the open lock, and the door swinging open, and the pounding steps down the stairs. She heard his coat swishing around his person and his panting breaths as he searched for her. And then he entered her bedroom. She breathed in his scent. Sherlock smelled warm and fresh and alive. And of cigarette smoke. And various other drugs and chemicals. Good thing she didn't drain him. His poisoned blood would not have sat well with her. She could have been ill for weeks.

"What was that?" he demanded. "What were you doing?"

"You're the genius. You should know. Deduce it," Caterine said calmly.

"You were holding an empty blood bag; there was blood dripping from your mouth. The blood bag was pierced by something and there were bite marks aligning with the holes. You obviously bit the bag open and consumed its contents. You moved with inhuman speed and everything about you expressed fear. Fear of what, I don't know. Fear of me, fear of what you did, fear of something else? Now you sit calmly;

your face betrays no emotion. I can hear you breathing deeply, not to take in air to catch your breath, because you are not breathing rapidly, so why would you be breathing deeply? Maybe you are calming yourself, but that is unlikely because you are already calm, so it is more probable that you are smelling. Yet you breath very quietly. I can barely hear you. A predatory instinct? Possibly. Simply smelling discreetly? More probable. Blood is still staining your skin in a line from your lips to your chin, where I assume it dripped from your mouth, further proving that you in some way consumed it. Earlier you admitted to not having any food in your fridge and never eating. You said nothing about drinking. A liquid diet? Possibly. Vampirism? All the facts point to it. But nothing I can think of explains your speedy escape."

Caterine paused to collect her thoughts. She was not shocked or surprised or caught off guard in any way by Sherlock's very accurate deduction. It was a simple, easy train of thought to follow. She had heard of greater deductions that led to bizarre yet accurate outcomes that came from clues much less obvious than these. But the fact remained that he had correctly guessed her vampirism. She was a vampire, after all. Not some mortal human who drank blood and followed an odd lifestyle, but an undead vampire that consumed the blood, but did not drink it. Never drink it. Consume it. Nothing had passed down her throat in over a thousand years. Vampires sucked the blood through their fangs directly into their nervous system, bypassing lungs and heart in the process of getting oxygen to the brain. They had no blood of their own, so they used the blood of others to both nourish and oxidize. Of course, her respiratory system was still intact to allow for the sense of smell when desired, but it served no purpose other than to smell.

"You are almost correct," Caterine began. "It's a long story, though. You're welcome to sit down."

Sherlock stayed where he stood.

"I did drink the blood, though drink is not the word I would use. I would prefer to say consume. The blood does not enter my stomach. But that's beside the point. I am a vampire. Not just someone who drinks blood for what they claim are health purposes, but someone who actually consumes blood because it's the only thing that both provides oxygen for my brain and nourishes my body. I died one thousand and eight years ago, in 1005. I fell prey to a vampire when I was...oh, twenty seven I think. I was a lady of title, a duchess of the French Royal Court. And then a visiting count went on a rampage, slaughtering people left and right. He graciously injected me with his venom when he killed me. About a month later I awoke in a coffin, buried in a cemetery. I remembered from stories I read that if the damned set foot on sacred ground they burn. By damned, the story had meant vampires and witches and such. I found a string by my head that led down instead of up. This was during the time when people included a bell pull in a coffin so that if the person ever woke up alive they could be dug up and rescued. But this string went down. Curious, I pulled it. I was immediately transported to a place called the Underneath, where immortals can live free from the threat of mortal beings here in the Above. I won't go into detail about what went on there, but I signed the Treaty, meaning I agreed to never prey upon living mortals. I was sent back to the Above ten years later, and have lived like that ever since, faking my death every thirty years or so, only to return after everyone's forgotten."

"And the speed?"

"One of the perks about being a vampire. I possess inhuman strength, speed, sight, hearing, and smell."

"And what of garlic and holy water? Weaknesses?"

"After a thousand years of continued survival, a vampire becomes a greater vampire. This simply means an increase in self control, increased abilities, the ability to consume garlic, and wooden stakes were never a problem in the first place. Once a greater vampire, we can go out in sunlight, but we still get very bad sunburns very easily. Fire is still a problem though. If we catch on fire, we die. Also, if we come in contact with anything holy or sacred, we burn, and therefore die."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"You would have gotten suspicious sooner or later. If you haven't noticed, I don't breathe, nor does my heart beat. And the obvious: I don't eat. Or drink, technically."

"Would you...consume my blood?"

"Why?"

"So I know whether to sleep with one eye open or not. When I do sleep, that is."

"No. The Treaty forbids it. Unless you were already dead. But I still wouldn't, Treaty or no Treaty. Your blood has been poisoned. Smoking, cocain, nicotine, and who knows what else. Bad for my health."

"Do you sleep?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Vampires can only go without sleep if they have enough blood. The bit about being able to consume dead mortals' blood is actually a bit of a loophole. I only discovered it in 2000, when I had to resign. All the vampires I know, myself included until now, consumed animal blood. Pig blood, cow blood, things of that sort. Blood from insentient creatures. But when we do not have enough sustenance, and animal blood is weaker than mortal blood, we must sleep to recover the energy that we do not get from the substitute blood. Its oxidation service is fine, but we need that energy."

"Why did you say unfortunately?"

"You are just a gold mine of questions, aren't you? I said unfortunately because sleep is a sign of weakness. A vampire who has to sleep every night can't hope to be strong enough, fast enough, keen enough to survive. These days, vampires are getting weaker and weaker. It's now normal to sleep a good eight hours once a week. Back in the old days, before the Treaty, I heard of vampires never sleeping for months. I actually know a rogue vampire who sleeps about once a month. He's very careful about how he takes the blood. He only takes it from people who donate to him. These human mortals are completely devoted to him..."

"Yes, yes, enough about that."

"I have a question for you now. A threat, actually."

"Go on."

"If you dare tell anyone about what I just told you, I will not hesitate to decapitate you."

"And how could you possibly accomplish such a thing?"

"Don't forget that I am stronger and quicker than you. I can hear your heartbeat. I can smell the iron in your blood as you breathe," Caterine stated, standing up. "I have been around for a thousand years. I know how to make your death look like an accident. A tragic accident that would convince anyone, even yourself were you to look at it."

"Point taken. Tea?"

"Can't, sorry. That would be very bad for my body, seeing as my digestive system is no longer functioning."

"Blood then? I have some blood I was going to experiment on at a later date. It isn't diseased, don't worry."

"Perfect."


	3. Chapter 3

Hey! It hasn't been too long, has it? ...Nah. Anyway, this chapter deals with some finer points of Caterine's characterization, but it's pretty mych entirely indirect. While doing this because I enjoy writing fan fiction, I am also attempting to practice some skillz for English class. Clever, huh? Anyway, I hope I haven't rushed Sherlock's attachment to Caterine. I skip through a week or two or three sometime in this chapter, so that should bring the whole thing to a pace appropriate for Sherlock so he isn't too OOC. Okay, I guess I'll stop worrying about the progression of my plot line and let you read. Enjoy!

* * *

Caterine brushed past Sherlock as she left her bedroom. He was blocking her doorway, after all. As she passed, she heard him take a deep breath in. A tiny red flag popped up, but she attributed it to too many years of being paranoid about that sort of thing, and continued on up to 221B. Sherlock let them in, and after he hung up his coat and scarf and gloves (and by "hung up" Caterine meant "tossed on the couch") he put the kettle on for his tea. He retrieved two cups from a cupboard and set one on the table. Caterine took this as an invitation to get her own blood, and opened the fridge. She sighed slightly at being greeted by a foot and several fingers and an empty carton of milk and quickly found the bag of blood. Caterine returned to the table and squeezed the the dark blood out of the plastic bag into the teacup. She sat and took a sip. She let the blood wash around her mouth before sucking it up with her fangs. True to her word, she did not swallow. Sherlock observed her, and she stared back. The consulting detective sipped his tea. The vampire sipped her blood.

And then John came into the kitchen.

"What is going on, Sherlock? Please tell me a client didn't come in the middle of the-hello."

"Hello," Caterine replied.

"I don't think we've met before?"

"I live downstairs in 221C. Sherlock caught me coming home from work and asked me in for tea."

"Did he?"

"Apparently I'm a mystery. Caterine du Rien, by the way."

"John Watson, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. You're out of milk."

"Sherlock!" chided John. "I told you to get some when you were out!"

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did! I said it three times, actually."

"Mm, nope."

Caterine chuckled, and the two men snapped out of their childish quarrel.

"I apologize for my friend's lack of humanity, Caterine," John said politely. "I hope he didn't do anything to offend you."

"Well-"

"Don't tell me he deduced you..."

"No...he didn't. But he made me get my own tea. And he picked the lock to my flat."

"Sherlock!"

"A bit not good?"

"A bit, yeah!"

"Well, thank you for the tea, and it's been lovely meeting you both," interrupted Caterine, "but I really should get back to my own flat."

"Oh, sure. Here, let me take your-"

"No, John, it's fine. I'm perfectly able to take a teacup to the sink."

Caterine stood and rinsed her cup out, skillfully dumping the bloodied water over the drain and blocking John's view with her body. She then said good night, er, morning, and dashed down to her own flat.

Caterine was laying in bed, sleeping. As temperature had no affect on her whatsoever, she had gone to sleep in a hoodie and black and white and gray plaid pajama pants. It was around noon, and Caterine had wanted to grab some extra sleep before going to work that night.

It just so happened that John had yelled at Sherlock for keeping mice in the freezer, and had asked him to relocate the rodents. Sherlock, knowing that Caterine never had anything other than blood in her fridge, had figured that the perfect place for the mice was in Caterine's flat. So, naturally, he knocked a couple times, got tired of waiting, and picked the lock. Not seeing her anywhere, Sherlock dumped the mice in the freezer and hoped she wouldn't drain them. Then he heard the rustle of blankets in her bedroom. Her bedroom door was open, so he peeked inside and saw her sleeping, looking like a normal person for all the world. Of course, she wasn't snoring. Or making any breathing noises. How could she when she wasn't breathing?

It was at that exact moment that Sherlock realized he had grown to care for the vampire. He had discovered that she had moved into his mind palace earlier that morning, but chalked it up to curiosity about vampires and not about Caterine herself.

Having finished what he set out to do (deposit the mice in the freezer), Sherlock left the flat, locking the door again behind him. He threw himself on the couch in 221B and entered his mind palace.

Sherlock entered Caterine's room and inspected every detail. It was painted a calming shade of jade green, and there were no windows. A small café table sat against the wall, and that was where a likeness of Caterine sat, in a chair, sipping from a lime green teacup. Sherlock approached the likeness and looked over her shoulder. Blood filled the teacup, of course. Words filtered around the room, as they did in every other room. Sherlock caught a few of the things he knew about her as they passed through his point of focus. There wasn't much there, other than "speaks English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Portuguese, Russian, Arabic, Chinese, and Japanese fluently," "partial to the blood of white mice," "loves to read the works of Alexandre Dumas in their original language and version," "incumbent pathologist, previously a neurologist, biochemist before that," and a few other straightforward details, like her height and nationality and vocal range. He still couldn't deduce much about her as a person, though.

Sherlock glanced around the room again. Then he caught the strong scent of vanilla and ginger. Sherlock took another step closer to the likeness. Mind palace Caterine turned to face him, long fangs dripping red as she hissed. Sherlock fled the room and slammed the door behind him. And there was the other part. The part of his conscious that kept him aloof.

* * *

Well that hopefully wasn't too bad. I'm sorry it's been so boring so far! The conflict should be introduced soon, I swear! At the moment, though, I'm not sure exactly where in the series this stands, time-wise. I guess after the Fall, but then John shouldn't still be living in 221B, should he? Oops. Sorry about that. Anyway, constructive criticism is welcome, and if you have any requests for anything you think should be included in the story, like a scene or a pun or bit of comic relief, leave it in a review and I'll find some way to work it into a later chapter. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Yoooooo I'm back with another chapter. We finally start to see some action in this one. Sorry for the uber long exposition, I needed to set the stage a bit I guess. I'm also not used to writing long multichapter fics, so I had originally planned on making this a collection of oneshots. So much for that! At this point in the story, Caterine has spent about a month living at Baker Street and working with Molly. Enjoy!

* * *

Caterine woke from her nap. After three weeks of working at Bart's and taking human blood from the clean cadavers, this was the first sleep she had after the first day living at 221C. She rose from her bed and padded to the kitchen, opening the fridge with the intention of getting a sip or two of blood. She pushed aside the large intestine and the hand, and the two cartons of milk, and didn't see any blood. She must have consumed the fresh ones. The fridge door closed with a slam and Caterine scowled. She could really use some blood right now; her emotional balance was all out of whack from the sleep. She yanked open the freezer and nearly screamed.

Sat on one of the racks in the freezer was a baking sheet holding two-dozen frozen white mice.

Caterine shut the freezer door with a squeak. Why had he done that?! Didn't he realize that those mice contained blood?! White mouse blood is a vampiric delicacy. She would give anything to have a taste of the sweet blood again...it had been at least two hundred years. But this was Sherlock's experiment. And how could he possibly know about vampiric cuisine? Caterine bit her lip and slowly opened the freezer again. She grabbed a bag of frozen blood and shut it again, leaning against the door. That took more self-control than it should have. All this human blood was giving her bloodlust.

Caterine popped the bag into the microwave for a bit, to thaw and warm up the blood. She squeezed the deliciously warm blood into her favorite teacup and sipped from it as she looked over today's newspaper. And that was how she was when Sherlock walked into her flat. Leaning against the counter in her pajamas, reading a newspaper, lips stained blood-red, and sipping from a lime green teacup. Her thoughts momentarily touched on the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra at the moment, but she countered it with the logic that nobody could tell because she was wearing an oversized hoodie from when she had gone to med school in Sweden.

"Good evening," Caterine said casually, turning the page. "Are you here for the mice?"

"Yes. I know I didn't ask, but I assumed-"

"Never assume things with me, Sherlock. Did you know white mice are a vampiric delicacy? I'm not sure why, but a white mouse just tastes so much better than any other animal, even another mouse. They could even be the same type of mouse, but the white ones, mmmm..."

"You didn't drain them, did you?"

"Now why would I consume anything that you mess with?" Caterine asked, smiling as she smelled the fear toxins releasing in his brain. "You could have poisoned them with laundry detergent for all I know." Caterine took another sip.

Sherlock yanked open her freezer and collected his mice, scowling as he returned to his own flat. Caterine watched as he left, chuckling slightly. She glanced at the oven clock. She had about an hour and a half before she needed to leave for work at 6:30. Her shift started at 7:00.

Caterine tipped her head back and emptied all the blood in her cup into her mouth and set it in the sink. After carefully folding the newspaper and setting it down on her kitchen table, Caterine entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water heated, she brushed her curly hair out, making it all poofy and frizzy. She showered, brushed her teeth, put on makeup, and got dressed in a fitted green graphic t-shirt, dark-wash skinny jeans, and her sneakers. After blow drying her hair she loosely braided it over her shoulder, leaving her bangs to hang in her face.

The night shift went on as usual. Molly and Caterine had fallen into their pattern and would not be breaking the habit. Although, tonight, Molly seemed intent to fill the silence with conversation.

"Cat?"

"Hmm?"

"I really don't know much about you at all."

"And I don't know much about you."

"Let's get to know each other, then," Molly suggested, inspecting the throat of a man who had died of peanut allergies. "Where did you grow up?"

Caterine glanced up quickly and then returned her eyes to the paperwork in front of her. "France, then England. Normal peanut allergy?"

"Yes, nothing unusual. I've been in England all my life. But I wish I could visit France. Is it nice there?"

"That depends on what part of France you plan on visiting," Caterine muttered.

"Sorry?"

"I said some parts of France are nice. The tourist parts are nice. Stay in the tourist parts."

"Um, alright then... Oh, this man is perfectly normal for a peanut allergy death. Let's just move on." Molly took the paperwork from Caterine and found the next file, found the cadaver, and set her on the table. Caterine stood and took her place beside the metal table. "Tuberculosis. Have you traveled anywhere else, Cat?"

"I've been loads of places...Japan, South Korea, Canada, Brazil, Germany, Scandinavia area, Italy, America..." Caterine began inspecting the woman for the physical signs of tuberculosis. "I went to med school in Sweden, actually. There are loads of nice people there." She picked up a knife. "Should I take a look at her lungs?"

"You might as well," Molly replied. "What's your favorite thing to eat?"

Caterine paused before making a clean slice through the dead woman's flesh. Her favorite food. She hadn't eaten anything in a very, very long time. But...she had loved duck. "If I had to choose something, regardless of cost or where we are, duck. What about you?"

"I think my favorite thing to eat is apple pie. Why don't you ask a question?"

"Favorite book?" Caterine carefully slid her gloved fingers into the cavity and felt around the rib cage for where she could easily break through.

"I don't know. There are too many good ones; I can't choose one."

"Mine is Les Misérables." Caterine managed to detach the lung and carefully held it while she scooted the cadaver over with her elbow to make room for the organ. "Favorite movie?"

"I can't decide, again. I do like the Wizard of Oz, though."

"Really? Well I'm fond of Les Mis. Again."

"Do you know any of the songs?"

"I know most of them by heart." Caterine glanced up from the lung. This shift was never going to end. "Perfectly normal infections. Let's move on."

"Okay." Molly handed the next folder to Caterine.

After Caterine located the body, she plopped down in the chair with a huff. "This one's interesting. Snapped his neck while having a seizure. Apparently he's never had a seizure before, his family has no cancer history, and he was x-rayed but there were no signs of brain tumors."

Molly began working, and Caterine filled out the forms according to everything Molly found. When it was decided that there was nothing to be found that would have caused the seizure without running tests, Caterine volunteered to run blood tests. Along with the normal sample size, she also took a small blood bag and put it in her pocket to bring home.

She entered the lab, and found Sherlock sitting at a microscope. Why did he always end up in this lab? Oh well. As she ran the tests, she heard Sherlock get up and come stand behind her. She didn't mind. As the results came in, Caterine's eyebrows furrowed. These weren't the readings she expected at all. Then again, what had she expected, exactly?

"Problem?"

"This man. Snapped his neck while having a seizure, but he's never had seizures before. His family has no cancer history, and there's no evidence of brain tumors. I bet Molly's cracked his head open to look by now."

"Could I see these?" Sherlock asked, indicating the results from the blood tests.

"Be my guest," Caterine allowed. She stepped to the side and the consulting detective quickly took her place.

"Poison would be my guess. Don't have any on his blood."

"But what kind of poison?" Caterine pressed.

"Not any that I know of, from what I can see."

"Describe what it would have to have been. I've been around much longer than you. Maybe I'll think of something."

"I don't have enough to go on to say much. It doesn't seem to be fast-acting...could I have the blood bag in your pocket to experiment on? I'm between cases at the moment, and this should prevent me from boredom, at least for a few hours."

Caterine sighed and held out the crimson-filled bag. Sherlock snatched it away and returned to his previous seat. The blonde picked up the sheet of paper with her findings and walked back to the morgue at a brisk pace. The door banged open, a sign of Caterine's frustration.

"Oh! Cat, you're back!" Molly exclaimed, startled.

"Inconclusive," Caterine announced. "Sherlock was there, said he'd have a-..." Caterine stared at the partially dissected brain in front of Molly. Her eyes flitted to the cadaver's open skull. "Any tumors the x-ray missed?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Unless they were liquidized as well."

"What?"

"Come look." Molly indicated the section of brain where she had cut away parts. "The inside is like brain soup. If anything wasn't sealed on the bottom, I'm sure it would have come gushing out the moment I picked it up."

* * *

The plot thickens! I'm so excited to actually develop a functioning plot for a story; I've never successfully done this before (see the Inheritance Cycle thing I abandoned because I ran out of ideas for plot continuation). I hope this one goes well... Anyway, leave a review if you like, favorite or follow if you really want to, I guess. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Heyo! Kinda short chapter today. But it's a chapter, and I'm struggling against writer's block at the moment so this is the best I could do under the circumstances. Aaand in this chapter, we see a bit more into Caterine's characterization/past, and the plot thickens!

* * *

Caterine looked, and the inside of the man's brain was indeed soupy. The vampire also heard the quietest little fizzing sound, as if acid was eating away at the organ. Acid... Caterine glanced at the test results. Traces of acid in a dormant state. So it was slow-acting and acidic. Caterine took out her phone and snapped a picture of the inside of the brain.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked.

"Sending this to Sherlock," she answered. Caterine also sent a curt message: 'Acid dissolved the brain, and I can still hear it fizzing. Slow acting, and acidic.' She looked up as Molly let out a small squeak. The bottom of the brain collapsed, and the innards gushed out onto the metal tray. Thank goodness it had a lip. Caterine sent another quick message: 'The bottom of the brain broke down.'

The two women looked up as Sherlock burst into the morgue seconds later. He strode right up to the liquified brain, put his face inches from the still-fizzing (but only to Caterine) brain tissues and sniffed. Molly looked only slightly disgusted. Sherlock moved to touch it but Caterine all but karate chopped his hand away.

"No, Sherlock. You can't just touch a brain polluted with some sort of acidic poison," she reprimanded firmly.

The consulting detective glared at her but backed up anyway. "Definitely slow-acting. The poison entered his bloodstream somehow and then didn't kick in until it reached his brain. But the question is how would the killer have timed it right so the acid only began to work when it came to the brain? He would have to have an excellent understanding of human anatomy, especially the circulatory system. Molly!"

"What?"

"I need to examine the body."

"Oh. Go ahead."

Caterine watched as Sherlock examined the neck of the man, his wrists, back, arms, legs, everywhere. He seemed to have a method however. It may have looked random to Molly, but Caterine could see the pattern. He was looking in all the likely places where a poison could be injected into the bloodstream.

"The man may have inhaled it or ingested it, don't forget," Caterine commented.

"I know that, but it's more likely it was injected directly into the veins. The stomach nor the lungs are breaking down, correct?"

"But wouldn't it pass through the heart, too? That would be all liquid-y inside, too, shouldn't it?" Molly asked.

"No necessarily," Caterine responded. "If the killer injected the blood into an artery on its way to the brain, it wouldn't have gone through the heart."

"Aha!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Here! See, look: tiny, almost invisible prick. Right there on the external carotid artery."

"Not that slow-acting, then," Caterine said. "It just couldn't begin eroding right away. But once it got to the brain, then it would be able to do it's job."

"Molly, Caterine, if any more bodies like this come in, tell me immediately."

And with that, Sherlock left. Caterine and Molly turned to face each other.

"Well then," Caterine sighed. "When does this shift end?"

"In another three hours, I think."

"Okay." The two returned to their work. The poisoned cadaver was put back into its freezer to await further inspection, and the next victim was pulled out. "Why is Sherlock in the lab at four in the morning anyway?"

"That's what he does," Molly answered. "Although he doesn't usually come this early unless it's more like the middle of the night. Oh well. Maybe he kept himself up on a case."

The aforementioned three hours passed, and the clock struck seven. Caterine's self-assigned twelve-hour night shift had ended. Molly's shift officially ended at midnight, but she had volunteered her help and company for the rest of the time Caterine would be there anyway. Caterine was thankful.

She supposed she could call Molly her friend. They worked together, they knew a little about each other thanks to the questions they had shot back and forth at each other earlier, and they had mutual friends: John and Sherlock. That would mean Molly was the first female mortal friend she would have in…goodness, how long now? About, three, four hundred years, maybe?

It wasn't that she hadn't known or worked with any women in that time, she just hadn't connected with any of them. They were either too immature for her taste or thought she was too hard to connect to. She had multiple acquaintances. She had some friends that weren't close friends. But she always seemed to draw in more male friends.

Not just because she was attractive. She had been around long enough to carry herself in such a way that demanded respect. She was amazing at her job because she had been at it for so long, and she found herself gaining friends by working with them. And in most places, she was always the only woman working. This was no longer the case after about the sixties, maybe? But she still seemed to be better and more efficient with her job, performing with a skill level that only the older scientists or doctors possessed. Needless to say, she had a lot of male friends that appeared to be much older than her. And she treated them with the respect of one addressing an elder.

Caterine shut her locker door quietly and slung her bag across her body before exiting the locker room with her new friend.

"I'm sorry we were there so long," Caterine apologized.

"It's alright, Cat. We got a lot of work done, and that's always nice. Less work to do later, right?"

"I suppose so," Caterine answered. "I can't stop thinking about that man with the soupy brain."

"Me too. I wonder why he was killed like that?"

"Science experiment, maybe?"

"No," Molly said, "no one would do that! It's illegal, isn't it?"

"So is murder in general."

"Maybe...maybe it's another Moriarty. Where the person is just in it for the fun and for the mental workout?"

"That seems unlikely."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Can't think of anything else, though. I mean, he could have just been very mad at the guy and went and killed him, but that seems too simple, almost."

"I guess you're right. Nothing is ever very simple with Sherlock, is it?"

"Not from what I've heard."

* * *

I'm just gonna put it out there that I'm still kinda iffy about who the murdered will actually be. I think, though, that it'll be a character we've already met. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!


	6. Chapter 6

So something got screwed up the first time I posted this chapter...there was a bunch of coding shit in front of each line and it was uber difficult to read.

Anyway, at some point towards the end of this chapter I mention the Reigning Congress which is the Underneath's government, in case you forgot from the first chapter. This is another kinda short chapter. At least it feels pretty short. Enjoy!

* * *

Two days had passed without another poisoning. Caterine had logged enough extra hours to warrant a night off. All through the night, she heard Sherlock pacing, playing violin, muttering to himself. At some point, around three in the morning, a drawer opened in 221B, and a gun was cocked. Thank goodness she was inhumanly fast. Caterine swore, raced upstairs, and ripped the gun from Sherlock's hand before he could inflict more damage to the beaten up wall.

Sherlock Holmes was on a case. A case with such a small amount of evidence and very few facts. There weren't even any suspects, just a basic description of what the murderer would have to be like. The homeless network hadn't even picked up anything out of the ordinary.

After the little gun problem that Caterine prevented, she went on a search of the entire flat. Even John's room. There were some advantages to having a vampire as your friend; she could sneak into your flatmate's room and confiscate any guns and drugs without waking him. After Caterine deemed the flat safe (she had left his nicotine patches and cigarettes, but took his guns and the small stash of crack she found in a shoebox under Sherlock's bed), she returned to her own home for a cup of blood.

As she was taking her favorite line green teacup out of her cupboard, Sherlock burst into her flat and sat himself down in a kitchen chair.

"Is there a particular reason you're invading my privacy or did you just feel like bothering me?" Caterine questioned. "When was the last time you ate, by the way?"

"Tuesday, and I have a question for you."

Caterine tsked. He hadn't eaten in four days. Not since before this case began. The blonde popped two slices of bread into the toaster and took the butter from the fridge. She didn't eat, obviously, but she did keep simple foods like instant oatmeal and a loaf of bread and a stick of butter for toast, and a couple boxes of macaroni and cheese, things like that. John wouldn't force Sherlock into eating, Mrs. Hudson rarely could, and so it was mostly left to Caterine to keep the man-child alive.

"What's your question?" Caterine asked as she sipped from her now blood-filled cup.

"Why did you tell me you were a vampire so quickly?" Sherlock frowned at the toaster.

"Well, if you will think back to that day...night...whatever it was, you caught me consuming blood. That was the first time I had ever had human blood, so my defenses were down and I suppose I wasn't really in my right mind."

"Did you trust me?"

The silence that followed was broken only by the toast popping up. Caterine turned her back to the pajama-clad consulting detective to spread butter on the toast. When she turned around again, he had taken his clothes off. Haha, just kidding; he was only staring at her calculatingly. She met his eyes as she set the plate down in front if him.

"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't let you live. Clearly, I trust you enough to keep you alive." Caterine sat down across from Sherlock. "Now, eat."

Caterine allowed Sherlock to leave once he had eaten both slices of toast. Once he had gone, Caterine decided to take a quick nap. So she changed into her pajamas and climbed in bed.

She was roused from her sleep by her phone ringing. So she picked up. It was 6:15.

"Hello?"

"Cat!"

"What is it, Molly?"

"There's another one."

Caterine's eyes widened and she flung her blankets off. "Call Sherlock. I'll be over as soon as I can."

The vampire jumped out of bed and ran around her room, opening and closing drawers and her closet and throwing off her pajamas and throwing clothes on with superhuman speed. Once she was sure she looked alright (vampires cannot sweat and do not possess the bodily conditions, such as temperature, to harbor bacteria; therefore, they don't smell unless they leave dirt and bad smelling things on their person), Caterine was out the door with her bag. Sherlock and John were only a few steps behind her; Sherlock was still wearing pajamas and slippers. They caught a cab together because why waste money if they were headed to the same place and ran down the halls to the morgue. Caterine ran with normal speed, of course. There were security cameras after all and they would catch her.

"Molly, let's see the body," Caterine said, (gently) tossing her bag into the corner.

"Here, look. I found the same type of prick on her neck, same kind of death. I opened her up and liquified brains gushed out!"

Sherlock set about examining the body for any kid of clues at all, while Caterine began searching the other new bodies since the last time she had come in. Maybe there was another one. Two at the same time. She wasn't sure what John was doing, but his scent was moving around so at least he wasn't standing in a corner or something.

When Caterine ended up empty handed, she set herself to a new task: finding the connection between the two. There seemed to be nothing other than the cause of death.

"Nothing!" Sherlock exclaimed. "How can there be nothing?"

"And the homeless network hasn't found anything, right?" John asked.

"Nothing at all."

"How is this even possible?" Caterine muttered to herself. There were no clues at all, no practical way of injecting the poison without someone picking up on it...maybe there was magic involved? "Molly, do you still have the results from the first blood test?"

"They're around here somewhere, yeah. Why?"

"I need them," Caterine answered, getting her laptop out if her bag. She heard papers rustling and then Molly gave her the paper with the results jotted down on them. "I think I know what the poison is."

Caterine opened Safari and typed the keyword into the search bar and hit enter. The screen blacked out for a millisecond; when it came back the gray bar across the top of the window was a rust color. Now she had access to the Underneath's information banks. She opened Google and searched "magic bubbles." An ancient poison, so simple it was studied by magical children just starting out in Potions. Completely unknown to humans. Caterine scrolled through the search results and skimmed the previews. She was right. just to be sure, Caterine clicked the link for the Reigning Congress's Magical Sciences site and began to read through the entry on Magicae Bullae, or Magic Bubbles. The poison was so named for the acidity and how it fizzed and burned away flesh.

She would keep this find a secret a while longer, just until she was somewhere she could tell Sherlock privately without risk of anyone hearing. For now, she looked up from her screen to see the other three watching her expectantly.

"I was wrong, never mind," Caterine lied. She gave Sherlock a look that clearly told him otherwise.

* * *

So. Yeah. "Magic Bubbles" is lame, yes, but I had to come up with a name that made some sort of sense.

Anyway, I definitely know who the murderer is, and I have a fuzzy idea of what the confrontation scene is gonna look like. I might cut off the story before I give any of that away, though. And then write a sequel with the murderer and what Cat and Molly and John and Sherlock are going to do about it. Hm. I don't quite know yet. Leave your ideas in a review, if you want.


	7. Important Note

Okay, listen up. I interrupt your reading pleasure to address something that offended me. In a review, a polite person informed me that my entire story is messed up because I cannot write what I know and I haven't done enough research about pathology and autopsy. This person suggested I change Caterine's career and therefore change the entire plotline because I don't know enough about the field of pathology.

This person, still polite, went on to point out that the entire concept of my fabricated poison was implausible because there was no way any poison could centralize in the brain like that. She suggested I use battery acid instead.

And then she told me that Caterine needs to step farther out of Sherlock's life because she simply didn't need to have any more involvement with him other than living at Baker St.

Now, excuse me if I'm rude, Lisa, because you were very polite.

First, I would like to address how you have a problem with my knowledge of pathology. I'm a fourteen year old girl. It's the least i can do to keep Cat from being incredibly Mary Sue-ish. She could have been born with purple eyes and the most beautiful, radiant golden hair ever seen and then she was chosen to become a vampire because of her great beauty and status as princess in addition to her amazing personality and beautiful singing voice. I also have to think out a functional plot and I have to keep Sherlock and John and Molly in character and believable. I have to keep the time constant. I have to create an entirely new world and sustain a tradition-based vampire character. I need to plan a murder plot and I need to plan how to bring this murderer into the story. Ahead of time. I've learned since last time I attempted this type of thing that these crucial details need to thought out ahead of time or my plot will flatline. And I suppose that I need to know exactly how an autopsy is performed? That isn't an important part of my plot, and everyone else reading this that has reviewed seems to be perfectly happy to overlook the fact that I'm not an expert on pathology as you seem to think I should be.

Next, let's talk about poison. I know I could have used something mortal and dull and simple like battery acid. However, in order to make sense with my plot, I needed to think up a poison that was magical. And because it is a magical poison, it can stay in the brain and not get pumped throughout the circulatory system.

So, Lisa, I know what I'm doing with my work. I should know, because I'm the author. And you are not. So you know what? Foutre le camp. You can run that through Google Translate as much as you like. You may think my story is limping along, painfully showing lack of research and thought.

I choose to believe my story is flying.

I said constructive criticism was welcome. And thank you for taking the liberty I offered. However, you took it so far that you insulted me and my work. And that is something I don't appreciate. Thank you.


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